Blood Bonds
by ForTheJoy
Summary: Bilbo, banished from Erebor, is captured on his way back to the Shire by those who wish to harm the king. Dís meets the same fate as she travels in the opposite direction. As they grow close in captivity, Dís promises herself that she will protect the hobbit from all threats. For Bilbo is her brother now, as well; they're bonded by his blood on her hands.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit, and make no money from this work of fiction.**_

_**A/N: **__So, the original idea for this was a light, funny fic in which Dís and Bilbo have somehow become epic bros, and Thorin, who never learned to share, is all, "MY sister! MY hobbit!" which makes Bilbo go, "Um, say what?" And that was pretty much the whole plot._

_And then I started writing, and this came out instead. So much for humor!_

_Let me take a moment to beg your pardon for things I do not know. This includes Middle Earth geography (I barely know where I am in reality, another land is entirely beyond me), and medical knowledge beyond the fact that infection is bad. If I make any mistakes in these or other areas, please let me know. I'll do my best to rectify any mistakes as long as my error isn't necessary to the plot (in which case I beg your indulgence)._

_Um, I think that's it. I'm kind of nervous about posting this, which is why I'm starting with just a short little passage. I hope you like it._

**Chapter One - One Last, Desperate Gamble**

"It would be very inconvenient," Bilbo slurred, "if I were to die here."

"Aye," Dís agreed, cleaning his wounds with what had once been Bilbo's waistcoat. "So you'd best not do it." Though her words were gruff, her hands were gentle.

Bilbo nodded. "I am trying," he assured her. "I won't leave you here alone."

Determinedly, Dís did not think about what their captors would do to her without Bilbo there to distract them. "You'll be fine," she said instead. "We're going to escape and get to Erebor, and my fool of a brother will see the error of his ways ere I'm finished with him."

At the mention of Thorin, Bilbo gave a defeated sigh. "I only meant to help," he whispered, words she had heard before. "I wanted to stop the fighting." His eyes closing, he murmured, "So much fighting in this world. Pain and suffering, what's a stone compared to that?"

Dís brushed an errant curl away from his eyes and didn't respond. She didn't have an answer.

Bilbo slipped into an uneasy sleep as Dís absently stroked his hair. She wondered what she would have made of the hobbit, had they met under better circumstances. She wondered what he looked like when his hair shone gold instead of being dark with blood, when his features were not knotted in pain.

She would see it someday, she swore to herself. As it was, he had made an interesting first impression.

_Disgruntled and bloody, Dís howled with rage as the leader of the men thrust her into the cage. "You'll pay for the men you killed," he roared. "If you weren't worth more to us alive I'd remove your head from your body."_

_Dís stood to her full height, lifting her chin in defiance. Her mouth was open, a response on her tongue, when a voice emanated from the pile of rags in the corner of the cage. "Best not touch her," said the pile of rags, which she now realized contained a hobbit, of all things. "Thorin won't pay nearly as much for her return if she's damaged, now will he?"_

_The man stood, frozen in indecision, for a long moment before he growled and stormed away. Dís spared a glance for the lock on the cage door (shoddy man-made work, one good hit would shatter it), then turned her attention to the hobbit. She meant to shout at him, to lecture that she needed no protection, particularly not from someone working with these men, but once more he acted before she could speak. He gifted her with a beaming smile, teeth a startling shade of white against his blood-streaked face. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he said with an odd intensity. "I must tell you, your sons are marvelous."_

_Dís blinked, wrong-footed by this observation._

_"How do you know my sons?" she demanded hoarsely._

_His smile gentled. "I'm their burglar." The happiness slid off his face, leaving a pain so deep she ached to see it. "Or, well. I was."_

_Thorin had mentioned going to the Shire to meet a burglar friend of Gandalf's, she recalled. "Was?" she echoed, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow._

_Bilbo's face closed off. "All adventures have to end sometime," he said, and though she knew that wasn't quite an answer, she let it be._

Weeks had passed before the full story came out, a tale of trolls and wargs and elves and oh, the danger her sons had seen, she would order them never to leave the mountain if she thought for a moment they would listen! As for her brother…

"My brother is a blind man," she mused aloud to Bilbo's slumped form. "I don't understand how he could have spent a moment in your company and not realized how terribly you love him."

Bilbo slept on, blissfully unaware of her observations, and Dís sighed. Perhaps she was being too hard on Thorin; perhaps she saw Bilbo's feelings so clearly because she knew how it felt to be utterly, desperately, unabashedly in love. Thorin had never loved like that. She wasn't sure he was capable.

Bilbo murmured angry nonsense in his sleep, and she hushed him automatically. He was feverish, she noticed with dismay. He grew weaker every day, tortured by the men for information about Erebor, secrets he did not hold and would not share even if he did.

They were running out of time. She could feel it rushing away like the sea at low tide.

They had time enough, however, for one last, desperate gamble. "Mahal help me now," Dís muttered, and waited for night to fall.

The king's guards no longer tried to stop their lord when he wandered at night. The days, Thorin gave to his kingdom, to the endless meetings and audiences required of a regained realm, but the nights…

The nights were for regrets. At night, Thorin walked with those he had lost.

A month had passed since he had greeted the remnants of the caravan meant to bring his sister to Erebor. The survivors told of a raid, bandits in the dark carrying Dís away and leaving half a dozen guards dead. As the weeks went by without a ransom demand, Thorin watched as his nephews lost their hope, grief dimming their smiles as they went about their duties with hollow eyes. Though he took pains to show little emotion, he ached for his dear little sister. But that loss wasn't all that kept him up at night.

Three weeks ago, Gandalf had returned to the mountain with news of Bilbo Baggins.

_"What do I care of the whereabouts of a banished hobbit?" Thorin had asked coldly. "As long as he stays far from here, his fate is of little concern to Erebor."_

_Beside him, Fíli shifted uncomfortably but remained silent. Kíli was not so discreet. "I care," he declared, giving his uncle a defiant look. "What news have you, Gandalf?"_

_With a grave face, Gandalf began. "You know I planned to escort Bilbo to the Shire with a small party of men." He paused to give Thorin a disapproving look, and the king lifted his chin, refusing to feel shame as he remembered how he had forbidden any dwarves to make the trip. "Not long after we took our leave, I was called away on private business."_

_"Oh, no," Fíli breathed, giving voice to the dread growing in Thorin's own chest._

_"And when you returned?" Thorin demanded._

_Gandalf sighed. "I must have just missed the attack. There was one man yet alive, though mortally wounded. In his final breaths, he apologized for his failure to protect the hobbit, who was taken away in the struggle. I tried to track them, but alas, I lost the trail."_

_Thorin scowled. The tale was eerily similar. "Why was he taken?" _

_A terrible anger simmered in the wizard's eyes. "I believe you know."_

_And Thorin did. It seemed his sister was not the only victim of revenge against the King Under the Mountain._

Knowing Bilbo had paid terribly for his association with the dwarves made it impossible for Thorin to maintain a sense of betrayal. With a newly rational mind, he saw the hobbit's actions for what they were—a desperate bid for peace, a gamble to protect a company that repaid him by casting him out. Thorin had acted rashly, without honor, and had no means to make amends.

At night, Thorin walked alone, composing apologies that would never be said.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**__ What a great response to my little fic! Thank you all for the favorites and reviews! I hope this continues to please!_

_Um, I'm not a big fan of gore, so this will be very light on details involving Bilbo's medical condition. Please let me know if it's confusing._

**Chapter 2 - Flowers and Visits**

_"Tell me a story," Bilbo said, a week into their imprisonment._

_Dís raised an eyebrow in surprise. Bilbo had made no requests of her in their time together, content to fill their silences with seemingly endless chatter about his home in the Shire and the people he would see once he returned. Against her will, Dís found herself growing fond of this odd creature who was so convinced they would somehow escape their situation. So hopeful, he was, but now there was something lost and desperate in his gaze, a darkness that made Dís want to gather him up like one of her sons and promise him that all would be well._

_Instead, she asked, "What did they do to you tonight?"_

_"Nothing," Bilbo said quickly. She let her skeptical silence speak for itself, and he slumped against the wall of the cage. "They aren't very good at this torture business, I don't think," he confided. "I've had worse pain." He looked away, staring through the bars to the sky above. "But their words… sometimes they cut deeper than their knives."_

_Dís didn't ask what had been said. It was none of her business, after all. A story was a gift easily managed, and she found herself speaking. "When I was but a dwarfling and we still lived in Erebor, I was fascinated by gardens."_

_This earned her a faint smile. "A perfectly reasonable interest," Bilbo observed. "Gardens are lovely."_

_"Not such a common interest for a dwarf," Dís pointed out. "We lived under a mountain, and the lack of gardens had never bothered anyone before me. But I found myself sneaking away from my minders, always out of the mountain where I could find wildflowers and clover. And every time, Thorin found me."_

_As she expected, Bilbo's face shuttered at the mention of her brother. "I expect he had little time for such things," he said, a touch snide. "Lacking gold and gems as they do."_

_Dís shook her head, smiling wistfully. "He would sit with me, and taught me to make chains of flowers. Once or twice, he would let me put flowers in his hair, braided like beads."_

_Bilbo's gaze was far away, lost in her story. "I wish I could see it," he said with such longing Dís looked away to hide her surprise._

_"Sometimes when I look at my brother, I see a boy draped in flowers solely because it made his sister happy," Dís confessed, surprised she was admitting as much._

_Bilbo slid closer, ever so slightly, until she could feel him warm and solid at her side. "Such love is a treasure." The isolation in his voice ached, and she let herself lean into his warmth as a reminder that he was not alone._

_"I miss my brother," she said, "but you are decent enough company."_

_The smile she gained was brilliant. "As are you," he murmured, and they sat in amiable silence until he slipped into sleep, his head resting on her shoulder._

For all that he loved the mountain, Dwalin had found that there was nothing like fresh air to restore a body after a hard sparring match. He stalked about the gate, secretly enjoying the afternoon sun, and even more secretly worrying about his king.

Worry for Dis and shame over his treatment of the hobbit wore at Thorin, even if none save Dwalin and Balin could see it. The king gave every appearance of normality, going about his days with typical stoicism, but a thread of weariness had woven itself through his countenance, dampening his usual fire.

That he wandered the halls when he should be sleeping was the mountain's worst kept secret, though most ascribed it to the stress of running the kingdom and let it be. Dwalin had tried to raise the subject once, only to receive such a glare that he decided to give it time.

(He did not know if this was the right choice, but Dwalin rarely was comfortable with his choices when it came to emotions.)

To his relief, a voice cut into his brooding. "Do you see that?" a nearby guard asked, pointing into the distance.

"A rider on horseback," his companion replied dismissively. "Nothing new about that."

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. When he spoke, the guards jumped, not realizing he was listening. "A horse at a gallop is always of note." He strode forward, intending to meet the rider, and his steps hitched as he recognized the pair on the horse.

Dís, covered in blood, shouted as soon as she was in earshot. "Dwalin, thank Mahal! Get Óin." The horse thundered to a stop, and Dwalin recognized the second figure on the horse, slumped before the princess. "I fear it may already be too late," she said breathlessly.

"Give him here," Dwalin ordered, reaching up and taking Bilbo into his arms. The hobbit did not so much as stir at the movement. Dwalin winced at the heat emanating from Bilbo, the scent of infection wafting upward. Giving Dís a hard look, he demanded, "Are you well?"

"Aye," Dís snapped, proving as much by leaping nimbly from the horse, though she held her left arm stiffly. She handed the reins to the nearest, stunned guard and gave Dwalin a hard push. "Move! Help him!" Something seemed to occur to her, and she swore in Khuzdul. "By Aulë, if you refuse to help him because of Thorin's stupidity—"

"No," Dwalin said quickly, hurrying toward the gates. "He has seen reason on that front. The hobbit is welcome here."

Dís easily kept pace, though she had to be sore from her journey. "Good. Still, that will not spare him my ire."

"I thought as much." Dwalin paused briefly to seize the arm of the nearest dwarf. "Fetch Óin to the king's chambers, immediately. Go!" Thorin's rooms were the closest, and he was certain the king would want his sister resting there rather than the infirmary. To the next dwarf he saw, he snapped, "Stop gaping and alert the king that his sister has returned, and awaits him in his rooms." Moving once more, he asked, "What happened to the hobbit?"

Dís snorted, a humorless sound. "They wanted secrets of Erebor," she said, and Dwalin growled under his breath.

They spoke no further until they reached the king's chambers. Dwalin carefully placed Bilbo on the nearest soft surface, which happened to be a sofa, his experienced hands running over the hobbit to check injuries. Dís hovered close by. "He hasn't stirred in hours," she said. "The worst injury is a gash on his right arm; I believe he angered the men into cutting deeper than intended, and it quickly grew infected."

As he uncovered the arm, Dwalin frowned fiercely, and Dís took a sharp breath. "This is more than infection," he grunted. "This is death."

Thorin burst into the room, followed closely by Óin. "Dís," he breathed, rushing to her. The siblings embraced fiercely, while Óin hurried to Bilbo. After a long moment, Dís pulled away, rushing to Óin. Confused, Thorin's gaze followed her path, and his eyes widened. "No one told me the halfling had returned," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Dis spun around, her eyes wild. "Aye, and you'll leave him be, Thorin Oakenshield, unless you can find the strength to be kind. He's had enough pain from you to last an age."

Dwalin looked away, studying the walls to hide his smirk. It was a relief to hear Dis harangue her brother; he had thought never again to experience the spectacle of Thorin being berated by his younger sister. From Thorin's pained expression, he did not quite feel the same. "I mean no harm," he said, almost sulky. He would have said more, but Óin interrupted.

"My king, I fear I must ask you to leave. Your voice is upsetting the hobbit."

All eyes snapped to Bilbo, and indeed, something seemed to have cut into his delirium. He shrank away from Óin's hands, murmuring pleas under his breath. Dís gave her brother a hard look. "Go. We shall talk later," she ordered, before moving to Bilbo's side, arranging him so that she sat with his head in her lap. "All is well, little one," she crooned, more gentle than Dwalin could remember ever hearing her. She ran a hand through Bilbo's hair, and he calmed.

Thorin still hadn't left, frozen in place as he stared at his sister and their burglar. Dwalin stepped closer. "Might be best to return to the throne room," he said quietly. "Complete your business there and return when things are quieter."

Thorin glanced at Dwalin and the desolation in his gaze was painful to see. "He fears me," the king muttered.

Knowing it wasn't the right thing to say didn't stop Dwalin from pointing out, "You tried to kill him, and then banished him." Thorin's face fell even further, and Dwalin sighed. "He has returned—there will be time to make things right."

Thorin straightened, blanking his expression. "Of course," he agreed, and left without another word.

As the door closed behind Thorin, Dís leaned toward Óin. "Will Bilbo live?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. Dwalin moved closer in silent support.

"Perhaps," Óin said, uncertain. "If we can get rid of the dead tissue in his arm before it poisons the rest of his body." He met Dwalin's eyes; they both knew it was likely the hobbit would lose his arm before all was said and done, but neither wanted to be the one to tell Dís and risk her fury.

Fortunately, a distraction arrived in the form of Fíli and Kíli, bursting into the room like a pair of mumakil. Dwalin took advantage of the commotion to slip away and head for the throne room. Someone should be there for Thorin, whether he liked it or not, if only to make certain he didn't cause a diplomatic incident in his current state of mind.

Thorin went to the throne room only to find that Balin had dismissed everyone for the day. "I did not expect you back so quickly," Balin explained, giving Thorin a look of poorly concealed concern. "How fares your sister?"

"She is well," Thorin said, not particularly wanting to talk about it. "The halfling, however…"

Balin's eyebrows rose. "I wasn't aware Bilbo had returned."

"Aye," Dwalin said as he entered the room. "They escaped together."

Thorin shook his head. "Dís rescued him," he corrected, and Dwalin gave him a long look.

"Of course. The hobbit did nothing. And 'twas mere chance that left her unscathed while he fights blood poisoning." Thorin winced internally. He hated when Dwalin's sarcasm surfaced. "You understand the reason for his injuries, do you not?" Dwalin continued, inexorable. "It was—"

"I know what it was!" Thorin roared, suddenly desperate not to hear the words. "What would you have me say?" he demanded. "Will he recover more quickly if I say this is entirely my fault? Will it help him to fight if I tell you that I've let him down in so many ways he now trembles at the sound of my voice? Does it help anyone to know that, of all the horrors he has seen, it is me whom he fears?" He turned away, pulling at his braids. "Tell me what to say, and I'll say it. Because if he doesn't survive I doubt my sister will ever forgive me, and I know I shall never forgive myself."

Thorin could almost feel Dwalin and Balin exchanging a glance behind his back, as they debated how to respond. With a sigh, Thorin turned back around, though he avoided their eyes. "The hobbit is strong," he said gruffly. "He will survive."

"Of course, he will," Balin agreed immediately, but Dwalin, ever honest, remained silent. Thorin did not ask for his opinion—he did not want to know.

Bilbo opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar dwarf watching him intently. He paused, taking in the bright summer sun, the lovely flowers, and the dwarf's familiar blue eyes. "Well, this is a far more pleasant dream than I usually get," Bilbo said, matter-of-fact.

"Are you so certain you are dreaming?" the dwarf asked in a very deep voice. "I fear that is not precisely the case."

Bilbo absorbed this information, wishing he had a pipe to smoke while he thought. "I see. What am I doing, then? For I hurt too little to be awake."

"No, you are quite unconscious," the dwarf said gravely, folding his hands in his lap. "If you must have a name, this is closer to a visitation than a dream."

"A visitation," Bilbo echoed. "By whom?"

Without standing, the dwarf gave an abbreviated bow. "I am Frerin, son of Thráin, brother to Dís and Thorin, who is now King Under the Mountain."

In this calm, sunlit world, Bilbo found it difficult to worry, even when he was meeting the deceased sibling of two of the most important people in his life. "Does this mean I am dead?" he asked curiously.

Frerin smiled, emphasizing his resemblance to Dís and her sons. "You are not dead, little hobbit, but you hover close enough that I can visit in your dreams."

Bilbo frowned. "You said this wasn't a dream."

"Not precisely," the dwarf corrected. "After all, it is not every dream in which you meet deceased royalty."

"I suppose," Bilbo said slowly, unable to argue. The sun was too bright for subtlety, so he found himself asking, "Why are you here?"

Frerin shared his smile with Dís, but his look of exasperated fondness was pure Thorin. "You are dear to the line of Durin; should I not come when I can?"

"I am not _dear_ to anyone," Bilbo said crossly. "Do you mean to say this is a visit of pure curiosity?"

Frerin's laughter was light and airy, and entirely his own. "Believe what you will." He shook his head, suddenly serious. "I do not creep through dreams for mere curiosity. Rather, I have come to give you, Bilbo Baggins, a message and a warning."

The day seemed to darken at his words, and Bilbo took a deep breath. "And they are?"

Sitting so straight it looked uncomfortable, Frerin nodded to himself. "The message is this: Do not fear Thorin Oakenshield, as his gold madness is entirely gone, never to return."

This was such good news Bilbo thought he might cry, and, indeed, a tear slipped out without his notice. "And the warning?"

Leaning closer, Frerin's features darkened. "Beware the Ring."

There was a great clamor with his last word, a peal of thunder and drums and voices crying words Bilbo did not understand, and then all went black.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **__We get into some medical stuff here, but it's combined with a little bit of mysticism, so let's blame any inaccuracies on that, shall we?_

_WARNING: Discussion of amputation._

**Chapter 3**

After they burst into the room, Fíli and Kíli made a beeline for Dís, only to pause when they caught sight of their erstwhile burglar. "Mum," Kíli said, much quieter than he would have been otherwise, "did you know you've got a hobbit on your lap?"

Fíli rolled his eyes. "Of course she does," he hissed. "You think Mum wouldn't notice that?" Before Kíli could reply, he hurried closer, bending to give Dís a hug over the back of the sofa. "Are you well?" he asked, though he knew she wouldn't tell him if she weren't.

Finally shaking himself from his surprise, Kíli knelt at her feet, throwing his arms around Dis and Bilbo together. "You're both here!" he cheered.

Dís delivered a gentle slap to the back of his head. "Give Bilbo some air," she chided, and Kíli sheepishly let go. Dís patted his cheek, and reached up to do the same to Fíli. "My boys," she sighed. "Are you well? And do not think of lying."

"We wouldn't!" Kíli protested, though his face said that he surely would, if he thought he would get away with it.

"We are well," Fíli assured her. "Some cuts and bruises at first, but all is well now."

Dís raised an eyebrow. "Cuts and bruises and…?" she asked, her tone arch. "I seem to recall Bilbo mentioning something about your arm in a sling, Fíli. That does not sound like a cut or bruise."

Kíli smirked, and Fíli punched him in the shoulder before turning back to his mother. "I may have dislocated my shoulder, too," he confessed. "But it hurt so little and healed so quickly I forgot!"

Dís hummed skeptically, but said nothing. It was still enough to make Fíli's shoulders slump in defeat. "I'm sorry, Mum."

"As you should be," she said tartly, but her words were belied by the gentle way she covered his hand with her own. "Now, tell me of your uncle. He looks dreadful."

Kíli looked around. "Where is Uncle?" he wondered. "Why is he not here?"

Dís's face darkened, and she resumed stroking Bilbo's hair. "He was frightening Bilbo," she said quietly.

The brothers exchanged a look, seeming to argue over something, before Fíli spoke. "What happened to Bilbo? I would have thought Kíli's loud voice would have woken him by now."

"I'm being perfectly quiet," Kíli argued. "You're the loud one, with your… loudness!"

Dís rolled her eyes, and pointed to Óin, who had been steadily working on Bilbo's many cuts, unnoticed by the brothers. "He is not well, clearly."

The brothers finally looked beyond Bilbo's face, and blanched at his arm, where Óin had been patiently attempting to clean the wound all this time. "We didn't notice," Fíli murmured, appalled. "I thought he was sleeping."

Óin finally spoke, unaware of their conversation. "I'm afraid this isn't working, Lady Dís," he said loudly. He waved a hand at Bilbo's mess of an arm. "You see the black and blue patches, and the discharge from the wound?"

Kíli made a face. "How could we miss that?" he muttered. Fíli rolled his eyes, while Dís ignored them both.

"Yes, of course," she said impatiently, waving a hand for him to continue.

Óin sighed. "The dark patches are dead, and need to be removed before they spread."

A muscle jumped in Dís's jaw, and her fingers tightened in Bilbo's hair. "That's most of his arm," she said softly.

"Aye," Óin agreed, looking like he wished he were anywhere but there, delivering this news. "There's not enough left to save. His only chance is if we take his arm from here"—he drew an imaginary line just below Bilbo's elbow—"on down. And that may not be enough; you can feel his fever."

Kíli made a small, wounded noise in the back of his throat, and Fíli was reminded of the look in his brother's eyes, so young and broken, when they had received word of Dís's disappearance. He moved close enough to wrap an arm around Kíli, and they leaned against each other in silent support.

Dís took a deep breath and nodded. "We will do what we must to save him," she said firmly.

"Very well." Óin stood, gathering his things together. "I'll have him moved to the infirmary, and I expect to see you there as well." He pointed at Dís. "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you're holding that arm."

Fíli and Kíli stared. "You're hurt?" Kíli asked in a tiny voice.

Dís waved a dismissive hand, but the brothers noticed it was her right one, and she had not moved her left since they arrived. "It's nothing. Just a sprain." She changed the subject. "Go get help so we can have Bilbo moved as soon as possible."

The brothers raced out of the room, and Óin followed at a more leisurely pace, leaving Dís and Bilbo alone. With no one to see, she lowered her head until her forehead rested against the hobbit's. "Fight," she whispered. "Do you hear me, Bilbo? You must _fight_."

Bilbo's face scrunched in discomfort, but he did not respond.

Dwalin and Balin had drawn Thorin into a conversation about the upcoming visit from Thranduil—as nothing distracted Thorin like than mocking elves—when Kíli ran into the throne room with a wild look in his eye. Thorin stopped midsentence. "Is Dís alright?" he asked urgently. "The halfling?"

Kíli looked around as if he was not sure how he had gotten there, and Balin moved closer, taking his arm. "Kíli," he said gently. "What is the matter?"

When Kíli did not respond, Dwalin sighed. "Oin's decided to amputate the hobbit's arm, I expect," he said bluntly. "It looked to be the only option when I saw it."

"And they aren't sure it will even help!" Kíli said, giving his uncle a desperate look that reminded Thorin of days past, when his nephews were young enough to believe their uncle could fix everything.

Unfortunately, Thorin knew all too well how powerless he was when death came calling.

"The hobbit is doing that poorly?" he said, more quietly than he intended. When he had seen the hobbit, he had been so focused on Bilbo's face, the fear he could see there, that he had not taken notice of his wounds.

Dwalin gave him an odd look. "I just said he was fighting blood poisoning," he reminded.

Thorin pursed his lips. "I thought you were exaggerating." Dwalin's only response was an unimpressed look, which Thorin could understand. He knew better than to think Dwalin would exaggerate, and yet, oh, he had hoped…

"Fíli and Óin are moving him to the infirmary," Kíli said, breaking into Thorin's thoughts. He looked at Thorin. "I thought you might like to be there."

Thorin shook his head. "The halfling doesn't want me there," he rasped through a suddenly dry throat. "You go."

Kíli gazed at him with keen eyes. "Maybe you should be there, anyway," he said quietly, and left.

The remaining three dwarves stood in silence for a long moment, before Dwalin rolled his eyes at Balin and grabbed Thorin's arm. "If you're quiet he won't even know you're there," he grunted, hauling Thorin toward the door.

Thorin followed, only partly because he had little chance of getting free without a brawl. He had to see the hobbit. He wanted to apologize, to explain that he understood now, that he bore no ill will. He wanted to ask Bilbo to stay.

He wondered if he asked, begged Bilbo to live, if the hobbit would listen.

Dís and Fíli were standing by Bilbo's bed, watching Óin and his fellows bustle about the infirmary doing Mahal only knew what. They both tensed when Óin approached, carrying restraints. "You're going to strap him down?" Dís exclaimed. "Why can't you give him a sleeping tonic?"

Óin shook his head. "He's so small, I'm not sure how much tonic to give him," he explained. "Too much and he'll never wake up at all. Best to err on the side of caution, so we must be prepared in case he wakes."

Scowling, Dís was about to reply when Bilbo stirred. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at her. "Thorin?" he asked weakly.

"It's Dís," she said, much gentler than when she spoke to Óin. "Bilbo, you're in the infirmary in Erebor. Do you understand?"

Tears streaked Bilbo's face, and Dís wiped them away. "None of that now," she scolded. "No crying."

"I wish I could be sorry," Bilbo muttered, and she realized he still did not recognize her. "But as long as it kept you safe, I can't."

"Bilbo—" Fíli started, but Dís hushed him.

Thorin, Dwalin, and Kíli entered the infirmary at a run, and she beckoned her brother. "Tell him you forgive him," she hissed as he approached.

To his credit, Thorin did not bother with questions before doing as he was told. "I forgive you, Bilbo," he murmured, covering Bilbo's good hand with his own. "I only pray you can forgive me."

Bilbo's expression eased at the sound of Thorin's voice, and he seemed to settle into sleep, but then he spoke. "…far more pleasant dream..."

Dís watched as her brother's face fell. "You don't dream," he said, his eyes intent on the hobbit. "My forgiveness is real."

Bilbo's eyes remained closed. "Why are you here?"

Thorin's jaw clenched and he gave Dís a helpless look. She gestured for him to answer, curious as to how he would respond. "I am here for you," he said slowly. "As I should have been long ago."

Dís held her breath, but Bilbo did not respond. Just when she had given up, releasing her air in a long sigh, Bilbo gave a tremendous, full-body shudder, and his eyes shot open. Staring sightlessly, he gasped, "The Ring!" and stopped breathing.

Dís's knees went weak, and she propped herself up on the bed as Thorin bellowed for Óin. Óin rushed over and took in the situation with a glance. "Out of the way," he shouted, and shoved Thorin when he did not move fast enough. Once he was bent over the bed, he laid a hand on Bilbo's chest. "His heart still beats," Óin announced, and, without further explanation, carefully opened Bilbo's mouth and breathed into it.

"Please," Dís whispered, her hands bunching in the sheets on the bed. "Oh, please fight, little one."

As if he had heard her, Bilbo suddenly took a rattling breath, and Óin leaned back, watching closely as Bilbo's breathing resumed a regular rhythm. "Never done that on someone who hadn't drowned," he commented, seeming unaffected by what had just happened. Without speaking, Thorin rudely shoved Óin out of the way in order to take his previous position, clutching Bilbo's hand as if he would never let it go.

Dís ignored all of this in favor of stroking Bilbo's cheek. "You are a fighter," she said fondly.

Kíli coughed, reminding everyone of his presence. "Did Óin just save Bilbo's life by kissing him?" he asked, incredulous. With his free hand, Thorin cuffed him about the head.

After that, the actual amputation seemed almost anticlimactic. Óin had tried to convince everyone to leave, but Dís and Thorin proved intractable, and he had given in. Brother and sister watched, unflinching, as Bilbo lost his writing hand and arm, only reacting when the sleeping tonic wore off and Bilbo began to scream.

Letting out a wail of distress, Dís threw herself at Thorin as if she was a small child once more. Wordless, Thorin drew her close, holding her tightly even after the screams stopped as Bilbo blessedly passed out once more.

Finally, the procedure was over, and they clustered about Bilbo's bed, waiting for him to wake.

And waiting.

_**A/N the Second: **__Did you know that mouth to mouth has been around for, like, ever? I sure didn't. Google "history of resuscitation if you're interested, it's pretty cool._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Warnings:**__ Violence, minor character death_

_**A/N: **__I'm interested in finding a beta for this. Not necessarily for grammar and such, but more someone who could be a sounding board for plot points and make sure everybody stays in character. If you're interested, let me know!_

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Desperation**

_As night fell, Dís nudged Bilbo into wakefulness, and he blinked at her with hazy eyes. "Be ready to run when they come with our supper," she whispered, barely breathing the words directly into his ear._

_"Run?" Bilbo echoed. He frowned at her, struggling into a seated position. "What are you planning, Dís?"_

_She would have explained, possibly, had one of the men not approached, bread in hand, to give them their meager meal. "Hush," she said shortly, trying to appear harmless, and waited for the man to come closer._

_They did not have to open the cage to feed them, simply shoving the bread through the bars. The moment the man's hand was within reach, Dís struck, forcing her arm through the bars until she caught his hand in hers. They had not tried to escape since their second day in captivity, and the guard had grown complacent. He was not quick enough to pull away before she hauled him forward with all her strength, smacking his head against the metal with a dull clang. While he was stunned from the impact, she reached up with her other hand, seized his head and shoulders, and, with a grunt of effort, snapped his neck._

_The dull snap of bone indicating her first premeditated kill would stay with her, but for now all Dís could feel was a wild triumph. She dropped the corpse without a care, and backed up enough to give the cage door a solid kick. The shoddy lock splintered with a loud _crunch_; a second kick broke it altogether. "Come," she murmured to Bilbo, "we must hurry." Not waiting for a response, she took his arm and hauled him from the cage. _

_Dís had chosen her moment well. The remaining men were busy eating in the wagon, and by the time someone came to investigate Dís was pushing Bilbo up onto one of the horses. The men began shouting at each other, and she knew they were out of time. "Hold tight," she told Bilbo, and began unfastening the bridle holding the horse to the cart._

_Running feet alerted her to danger, and she spun, grabbing a saddle off the ground and holding it before her. Her attacker, thankfully alone, swore as his axe buried itself harmlessly in the leather, and Dís pulled from her pocket the knife she had stolen from the dead man. While the man was pulling his axe free, she stabbed at his stomach, landing a glancing blow that pulled a pained hiss from him. He swung the axe once more, and, waving the saddle like a shield, she managed to bat it away, though she felt her arm protest at the impact. The man kicked out, knocking her legs from under her, and she fell hard onto her back._

_He loomed over her, smiling unpleasantly, and Dís spared a moment to wish she could see her sons once more before she died. She stared up at him, refusing to close her eyes as he lifted his axe and—_

_The end of the horse's bridle slapped him in the face. Dís's gaze followed the leather until she saw Bilbo, wielding the strap like a whip. "It's not as entertaining when you're the one being hit, is it?" he asked grimly. He swayed a bit on the horse, but stayed upright, and Dís scrambled to her feet while the man was distracted. With a grace borne of desperation, she darted under his axe and kicked him in the groin. He folded to the ground, mouth open in a soundless scream, and she seized the axe and buried it in his chest._

_Two men had fallen. By her estimation, four remained._

_Dís climbed onto the horse behind Bilbo, who had slumped against the animal's neck in exhaustion. Two more men appeared, running around the side of the wagon, and she decided it was far past time to flee._

_They rode through the night, until the shouts of angry men were nothing more than echoes in her mind. She didn't know where they were, or where they were going, but she knew any place was better than where they had been._

_They rode, and rode, as quickly as the horse was able, and yet she feared it wouldn't be enough._

"Gandalf, where are your fireworks?" Bilbo, eyes glazed with fever, managed a weak smile of remembrance. "They were so bright…"

"I'm not Gandalf," Thorin sighed, wetting a cloth and placing it on the hobbit's forehead. He missed Bilbo, the _real_ Bilbo, with his sharp tongue and bright eyes. With each moment that passed, he felt that version of Bilbo passing beyond their reach.

Days had passed as Bilbo settled into a cycle of fever, rising and falling like the tide. When he woke, he seemed to lose himself in time and place. There were days when he thought Dís was his mother, speaking earnestly of childhood joy and woe, and, less frequently, moments when he recognized her but thought they were still imprisoned. He never recognized anyone else, even Thorin, thinking him Gandalf or Dwalin or Cousin Drogo or (once, to Thorin's great vexation) Thranduil.

Before Bilbo managed to respond, Dís entered the infirmary. She gave Thorin a fondly exasperated look. "I thought you might be hiding here," she commented.

Thorin straightened in his chair. "Hiding?" he said, indignant. "I'm not hiding. I'm helping."

"I think you do both at once." Dís moved closer, reaching out to rest a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "How is he today?"

Thorin could see the moment Bilbo realized Dís was there, for he suddenly relaxed into his pillow, his eyes wide and earnest. "Dís! I thought they hurt you," he confided.

Dís squeezed his shoulder and gave him a soft smile. "No one is hurting me, little one," she reassured him. "We are safe, you and I—do you remember?"

Bilbo blinked, clearly confused. "You're Thorin's sister," he said, as surprised as if they had just met. "Your sons are marvelous."

"They are," Dís agreed, patting his uninjured arm and earning a brilliant smile.

With a hard swallow, Thorin made an attempt to chase away the bitter taste of envy. While he was happy that Bilbo no longer trembled at the sound of his voice, he wanted more. He wanted the hobbit to recognize him as he did Dís, wanted Bilbo to relax at the sight of him as if his mere presence was a comfort. He wanted that beautiful smile to belong to him alone.

His jealous reverie was broken by his sister's voice. "The Mirkwood elves are to arrive at any time. Balin suggests you prepare to receive them."

Thorin scowled. "I am prepared."

Dís gave him a dubious glance, and hesitated, squaring her shoulders. The movement reminded Thorin of her childhood, when she would arrange herself in such a manner before making a request she knew he would not like. "What is it, then?" he asked gruffly.

She leaned over Bilbo's bed to catch Thorin's hand in her own. "You will ask the elvenking to look at Bilbo."

Shocked that she would suggest such a thing, Thorin lurched backward, jerking his hand from hers. "You dare to give me such an order?" he asked lowly. "You would trust Thranduil with the life of the halfling?"

"I will not lose him!" Dís shouted, throwing her hands in the air. Bilbo whimpered at the sudden noise, and she combed her hand through his hair until he calmed. In a fierce whisper, she continued. "Not when there is a chance of recovery. The elves are his chance, Thorin." Her gaze was accusing, and, even worse, disappointed. "Do you not care for Bilbo? Does it not matter to you if he lives or dies?"

Thorin flinched. "Do not presume to know what I feel," he growled.

Dís stiffened. "Very well. But understand this, brother." She pointed at him with a steady hand. "If you do not ask the elvenking for assistance, I will."

Thorin stood, knocking over his chair in his anger. "Do what you must, for I shall have no part in this," he spat. "On your head be it." Not hearing her reply, he stormed from the room, almost slamming the door behind him before he remembered the hobbit still resting within.

But even as he dressed himself to greet Thranduil, he found Dís's words echoing in his head. It burned to think she did not realize how he cared for the halfling, that she thought he cared so little if the hobbit lived or died. Did she not understand that the elves should not be trusted with something as precious as Bilbo's life?

His mood little improved by the formal dress required of the meeting, Thorin strode into the throne room where Balin waited, responding to his greeting with a growl. Balin's eyebrows flew up. "Might I enquire as to the reason for your foul mood?" he asked carefully. "You seemed resigned to enduring the presence of the elves when last I saw you."

Thorin scowled. "Dís intends to ask the elves for their assistance with the hobbit."

Before Balin could reply, Fíli and Kíli entered the hall, escorting Thranduil, Legolas, and their entourage. Thorin turned and gave a short, jerky bow. "King Thranduil, Prince Legolas," he said coolly. "Be welcome in Erebor."

Thranduil returned the gesture much more smoothly. "We thank you for your welcome, King Thorin," he returned.

The doors opening once more distracted Thorin, and he was unsurprised to see his sister enter. She had taken the time to change, dressed in a gown befitting her station, and even with her arm in a sling she held herself like a queen.

"Princess Dís?" Legolas asked, surprised enough to forgo a greeting. "We had heard you were taken."

Dís smiled so sweetly at the elf that even Thorin almost believed it to be sincere. "We escaped," she said simply. "King Thranduil, Prince Legolas, please allow me to offer my greetings. I hope your trip here was less eventful than my own."

Thranduil ignored her last comments in order to latch onto her first. "Who is 'we'?" he asked, giving Thorin a suspicious glance as if he thought the dwarves had planned this to confuse him.

Dís moved past the elves to take a place beside her brother. "Myself and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."

"Bilbo!" Legolas exclaimed. "I was unaware he had been taken captive as well."

"As was I," said Thranduil, giving Thorin a dark look. Affronted by the wordless accusation, Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but Dís surreptitiously elbowed him in the side and he closed it silently.

"We were both captured as we traveled. If not for Bilbo, I would not have survived," she said, her eyes wide and solemn. Thorin thought he could see a wild desperation lurking in their depths, and for the first time he wondered what Dís would do if the elves refused to assist her.

Legolas's gaze was compassionate, but Thranduil seemed unmoved. "Where is the halfling?" he asked idly. "I would like to see him ere I leave."

Dís pressed her advantage. "He was wounded grievously. We had to amputate his arm—"

"Amputate!" Legolas exclaimed in consternation. His father gave him a disapproving glance, but Dís nodded in shared dismay.

"He continues to hallucinate in his fevered state. We are not certain he will survive," she added, giving Thranduil a look of barely concealed hope that the elvenking ignored.

"How sad," he said, seeming to lose interest.

Dís's eyes narrowed, and Thorin tensed, but she managed to control her temper. When she continued, her voice was so sweet it nearly made Thorin's teeth ache. "It may be unseemly to ask just after your arrival, but time is of the essence. We request the assistance of your healers regarding Bilbo Baggins, as he is dear to the line of Durin."

Thranduil pursed his lips and paused so long that Legolas seemed about to speak. "To provide the healing of the elves is a mighty gift," he said at length. "What might we gain in return?"

In a way, Thorin wished the question surprised him.

Her eyes wide, Dís shook her head in disbelief. "You would speak of reward when there is a life at stake?" she asked in a small voice.

"There are always lives at stake," Thranduil replied, nonchalant. "Is it not reasonable to let nature take its course?"

"Not when you can do otherwise," she snapped. With slow, deliberate movements, she stepped closer, looking so entirely dangerous that Balin gave Thorin a panicked look. Thorin shrugged in response, not inclined to intercede.

"Had it not been for Bilbo, recent events would have ended much differently. He risked everything, everything, for peace, with precious little reward, never asking for more. And you stand there, asking for payment, for something that costs you nothing but time." Thorin was appalled to hear tears in his sister's voice. "He spoke of you fondly, you know. He did not approve of your tactics, but said that, in the end, you did what was right. That's all I ask, that you once more do what is right." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "Please."

Thranduil stared at her in silence for long moments. "You are very different from your brother," he observed.

Dís lifted her chin. "He is not my only brother. I claim Bilbo as kin, as well."

"You what?" The question came from Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli simultaneously, but Dís ignored them all, focusing on the elvenking.

Thranduil also paid them no mind, his gaze fixed on Dís. "I will look at the hobbit, and do what I can," he said slowly. "We can discuss payment of the debt at a later date."

Dís was always a striking dwarf, but her relieved smile made her truly beautiful. "Thank you," she breathed.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**__ My thanks to Kookookarli and Mynuet for the beta!_

**Chapter 5 - Waking**

Thranduil collected secrets.

In an isolated court like Mirkwood, everyone had something to hide and Thranduil knew it all. Only if he knew what his subjects were hiding, would he know if they could be trusted. A careful network of spies and informants ensured his apparent omniscience.

Thranduil kept many secrets, gladly. But he didn't want to know Bilbo's; they left him unsettled. They made him care.

Alas, secrets do not keep when the holder is delirious, and Thranduil shortly knew all there was to know.

"I gave away his heart as I had already given mine," Bilbo whispered, and Thranduil realized, as he had not before, what it had cost the hobbit to stand before them and name the Arkenstone as Thorin's greatest treasure. Perhaps it wasn't entirely bravery that led the little halfling to return to the dwarves and face the consequences of his actions; Thranduil thought it was rather the desperation of a broken heart.

Later, as the fever crested and Thranduil labored to bring it down, Bilbo laughed wildly. "You cannot hurt me," he cried. "Not more than I've already been hurt, and not as long as she is safe! If you hurt her, I will kill you!"

Bilbo's words, combined with his injuries, told a story Thranduil did not want to hear, for it made him respect the hobbit even more than he had before. He did not want to grow fond of this small, fragile creature whose loyalties lay with the King Under the Mountain through betrayal**,** death threats, and torture. In a feud between Mirkwood and Erebor**,** they would be on opposite sides**;** but that did not stop the elvenking from working to save him or hoping for success.

Several days later, Bilbo awoke and **l**ooked at Thranduil with clear eyes. "King Thranduil," he said, surprised. "Why are you here?" He thought for a moment. "Am I in Mirkwood? Where is Dís?"

With a hint of genuine warmth, Thranduil replied, "Welcome back, hobbit. You are in Erebor, under my care."

"Erebor," Bilbo gasped. "But I cannot be here! Thorin—_King_ Thorin will kill me."

"He would not dare undo my work," Thranduil replied, pretending not to hear the way the hobbit's voice caught on Thorin's name, disliking the dwarf just a bit more. "The princess would not let him." Bilbo's eyes went wide and expectant, and Thranduil sighed internally. "Princess Dís is well, and should be here shortly. She left to get tea."

He moved closer and removed the bandages on Bilbo's arm, examining the stitches on the stump. Bilbo made an odd, choked sound. "Is that-is that my arm?"

"Yes," Thranduil said, short but not unkind. He hated stupid questions, but he supposed it was understandable, this once.

"What happened?" Bilbo whispered. When Thranduil began to rebandage the arm, Bilbo reached out as if to cover Thranduil's hand with his own, but pulled back before he could make contact. "My hand is gone," he murmured, his voice thick with tears he did not shed. "Why?"

"It was removed before I arrived," Thranduil responded, dispassionate. "It was the only way the dwarves knew how to stop the infection from spreading." He bandaging the arm with quick, sure movements. Once his work was complete, he said abruptly, "I will find Dís," and left before Bilbo's grief could overflow.

Finding the princess was simple, as she was indeed headed back to Bilbo's room from the kitchen, trailed by a servant carrying a tea tray. Unfortunately, she was also in the company of her brother. Thranduil smiled thinly, focusing on Dís. "The hobbit is awake and aware," he told her, ignoring Thorin. "He asked for you."

Dís lit up, and for a horrifying moment Thranduil feared she would embrace him in her joy. Instead, she reached up and patted his arm as she passed, hurrying to Bilbo's rooms without a word. The poor servant rushed by as well, struggling to keep his tray level in his hurry, but Thorin hesitated, seemingly unsure if he should follow. "He asked if you would kill him for returning," Thranduil added, taking a cruel pleasure in the way Thorin blanched.

"He should know he is safe here," Thorin muttered, looking away.

Thranduil peered patronizingly at the dwarf. "How should he know that, precisely? After how he has been treated, I wonder if I should take him when we leave, for his protection."

Thorin had been turned away, examining a wall tapestry, but at this he spun back to Thranduil, radiating fury. "You dare to imply he needs protection from me?" he growled. "I would die before I see him harmed!"

"And yet, he has come to great harm under your care," Thranduil pointed out, unfazed by Thorin's rage.

For a moment, Thranduil thought Thorin might actually strike him, but the dwarf calmed himself enough to return his hands to his sides, though they clenched into fists. "There was nothing we could do about his arm," Thorin said, speaking slowly in an effort to keep his temper. "That damage was done before he returned to us."

"Nothing the dwarves could do, perhaps," Thranduil agreed. "However, the elves have ways to draw out infection you do not. Would you have asked for assistance, had you known?" He studied Thorin's furious face with a detached air. "No," he said softly. "I do not think you would, even after all he has done for you. Just as you would not have asked now but for your sister's interference."

He began walking again, passing Thorin without incident, and paused with his back to the dwarf. "I intend to offer him a place in Mirkwood, regardless of your wishes," he declared. "We shall let the hobbit decide." Without waiting for a reply, he left.

When he reached his rooms, he found Legolas waiting for him. "How is Bilbo?" his son asked, and Thranduil gave him a small smile.

"He wakes, aware," the king said, taking the seat beside Legolas.

"But that is wonderful," Legolas exclaimed. "Is that why you look as if you have won a battle?"

The smallest smirk made its way onto Thranduil's face. "That comes from a battle of wits with one ill-equipped to fight," he commented.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "You mean King Thorin," he stated, not bothering to make it a question.

Thranduil nodded. "I told him I plan to offer the hobbit a place in Mirkwood, if he wishes to leave Erebor."

Obviously surprised, Legolas raised an eyebrow. "I am glad, for Bilbo deserves to have options beyond staying with those who have wronged him." He hesitated. "Still, I must ask why you made such a decision. Mirkwood is not known for being welcoming to outsiders."

Thranduil's gaze turned inward, thinking of Bilbo. He always had been partial to bravery. "It matters not; he will not come," he said at length. "Not when Thorin does not wish him to go."

Legolas nodded, staring keenly at his father, waiting for a real response. Thranduil sighed. "I know his secrets," he murmured, and would say nothing further on the subject.

In the silence left by Thranduil's departure, Bilbo stared, unseeing, at what remained of his arm and thought about breathing. One breath in and one out. Steady and even, until he could think beyond the rushing sound in his ears.

He didn't want to be here, in Erebor with dwarves who had cast him aside with betrayal in their eyes**;** with a leader who had thought to kill him. He didn't want to see Thorin, his blue eyes filled with that terrible distance as he exiled him once more.

He didn't want that, he told himself, even as he recognized the lie.

He didn't want to give them the opportunity to push him away, but he would take any opportunity to see the company again. To see Thorin again, and to reassure himself that he had healed from the battle. He longed for another chance to plead for forgiveness**,** even though he knew it would not come.

A spasm of pain shot through the empty space where his hand used to be, and he clenched his teeth until it passed. He couldn't remember what had happened, having only blurry memories of riding a horse with Dís's warm, steady weight behind him. Beyond that he had momentary impressions of faces, fever bright in his recollection, that he thought he must have dreamt. Certainly his mother had not been there, nor Drogo. Surely Thorin had not held his hand and begged for him to recover.

It did not matter as long as Dís was well. He would happily give up an arm for her safety, though he could not help but grieve. What use did anyone have for a one-armed hobbit?

Before he could think of an answer, the door opened and Dís burst in, followed by a servant that placed a tea tray on the table near his bed and left in silence. Bilbo beamed, taking in the details with an eager gaze. Dís looked well, happy and rested, and he was so pleased to see her he could not speak. "Bilbo," she said warmly, rushing close enough to rest her forehead against his for a long moment. "Do you recognize me?"

Confused by the question, Bilbo frowned. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

Dís sat in the chair beside his bed, taking his hand as automatically as if she had done so a thousand times. "You haven't been well," she said. "Your mind has wandered in your fever."

Bilbo thought back on the hazy faces in his memory. "I thought my mother was here," he said slowly. "And my cousin, and Gandalf."

"Yes," Dís agreed, her eyes haunted. "Among other things."

Bilbo flushed as he remembered begging—pleading—for her safety, convinced the world was out to harm her. "I am sorry," he muttered, not sure why he was apologizing other than to remove her upset.

Dís squeezed his hand, her eyes solemn. "Do not apologize for trying to protect me." With a sudden smile, she added, "It is what brothers do."

His blush grew darker. He had thought she would forget this notion of them being kin after their return. It was one thing to claim him as a brother when it appeared they would die together, but another entirely to do so when they had survived. "You needn't say that," he said quietly. "I cannot be a brother to a princess. Thorin would not have it."

Dís straightened, looking altogether dangerous (and more like her brother than ever). "Thorin will do as I say, if he knows what's best for him," she growled.

"O-of course," Bilbo stuttered. "I only mean to say, you should not feel as if you owe me anything, just because of… well. What happened."

Dís rolled her eyes in a decidedly unladylike fashion. "You think I would claim you as kin to settle a debt? I don't know what they do in the Shire, but in our culture not even your life would be worth such an honor."

Bilbo stared up at the ceiling. "Then what was?" he asked. "I am just a hobbit. Why would you want me as a brother?"

Leaning back in her chair, Dís regarded him with a more serious expression. "Because I care for you," she said simply, "and it is my choice to make."

"But—" Bilbo's response ended in a squeak as the door burst open and Thorin stalked in. The hobbit went white at his furious expression, shrinking back into his pillows.

"Do you wish to leave us?" Thorin demanded. "Would you prefer the company of the elves?"

Bilbo blinked, giving Dís a pleading look. She shrugged, equally confused. "I'm afraid I do not understand," Bilbo stammered. "Are you asking me to leave?" His speech came faster and faster. "I didn't mean to return, and I understand I am not welcome. I did not intend to—"

"Silence," Thorin thundered. He glared at Bilbo. "How many times must I tell you that you are welcome in Erebor?"

Dís stood and strode to her brother's side. She punched his shoulder, hard. "He has been insensible with fever, and you fault him for not remembering?" she hissed. "Why are you behaving like this?"

Before Thorin could respond, Bilbo interrupted. "If I am as welcome as you say, then why are you shouting at me?" he asked, feeling a growing impatience with Thorin's rudeness.

Thorin paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, and made an obvious attempt to rein in his temper. "I was speaking to Thranduil," he said finally, and Dís made a small noise of understanding. "It was implied that you would prefer to stay in Mirkwood than with us**,** in Erebor."

Bilbo stared, completely confused. "I have not been invited to stay in Mirkwood, or Erebor," he said slowly, "and I have not said that I will be staying anywhere."

"You said as much to me," Dís said softly, sounding almost hurt. "When we were trapped, we spoke of the home we would make in Erebor. Do you remember?"

"Oh, Dís," Bilbo sighed, feeling terribly guilty. "We thought I was dying when we made those plans."

Thorin scowled. "So you lied to her?" he asked scathingly. "You would prefer to run back to the Shire?"

Bilbo scowled back at him. He understood that dealing with Thranduil put the dwarf king in a poor mood, but he refused to be the one to pay for it. "I would prefer not to be killed," he said sharply. "I was told if I stayed in Erebor it would mean my death. Have you forgotten, King Thorin?"

"Mahal's beard—I apologized for that!" Thorin roared, pacing angrily at the foot of the bed.

"When? While I was unconscious?" Bilbo asked, incredulous.

Thorin had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "You were conscious," he grunted. "Though perhaps not aware I was there." He straightened. "I will tell you again—I am sorry for my actions and words. I was mad from the gold." His words were sincere, as far as Bilbo could tell.

"I know you never would have tried to kill me," Bilbo said gently. "But I do not think it is that simple."

"What is so complicated?" Thorin asked, glowering. "Are you afraid I will do so again?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No**.**" he said simply, though he could not say why he was so certain.

"Then you will stay," Dís said hopefully, looking between the two of them as if she was not sure what to say.

Bilbo smiled. It felt wrong on his face. "For now," he agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: **__Some of Gandalf's words at the end of the chapter are taken from the movie LoTR: Fellowship of the Ring._

_I'm sorry for the delay on this! Having a bit of a crisis in confidence. I hope this turned out okay!_

_Also, for those of you who would like to read more of my stuff, and are of age, I have a couple more adult Hobbit fics at __Archive of Our Own__ under the same pseudonym. Look me up, if you're interested!_

**Chapter 6 - Gandalf Gets a Clue**

As soon as he had Bilbo's assurance that he would not be leaving Erebor for the hospitality of the elves, Thorin left. Bilbo tried to ignore the tiny thread of relief he felt at the reprieve, but the truth of the matter was that Bilbo did not want to see Thorin until the dwarf was ready to apologize and mean it.

It wasn't that Bilbo blamed him for the gold-madness. He understood that Thorin had not been in his right mind when he tried to kill him, and he even believed it would not happen again. But had he truly been gold-mad the entire time, through the battle and the banishment? Bilbo wasn't sure. And even if he had, did Bilbo not deserve an apology better than the half-hearted one he had received?

If Thorin truly valued him as a friend, he would want to make things right between them. Sadly, all Bilbo sensed from his prior apology was a feeling of obligation.

However, as Bilbo was about to learn, this wasn't the only apology he was to receive.

The day after his encounter with Thorin, Bilbo woke from a restless sleep to find Bofur peering at him. Bilbo yelped in surprised, almost banging his nose against the dwarf's as he jolted himself into a sitting position. "What are you _doing_?" he asked, resting a hand over his heart as he tried to calm himself.

Bofur grinned, entirely unrepentant. "Visiting, of course," he said cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Bilbo replied with a shrug. "But I thought Thranduil wasn't letting me have visitors." The elvenking claimed it was to give Bilbo peace to heal, but the hobbit thought it more likely that Thranduil just didn't want to have to deal with any more dwarves than necessary. As it was, Thranduil had no luck keeping Dís away, but he seemed to be growing tolerant of that particular dwarf.

Bilbo was distracted from his thoughts by Bofur, who had adopted a shifty expression upon mention of Thranduil. "Aye, that may be true," the miner allowed, winking at Bilbo. "But I happen to know he's currently in a meeting with Thorin and Balin, and what the tree shagger doesn't know can't hurt him! Or us, for that matter."

Bilbo blinked. "You snuck in," he concluded, and Bofur beamed.

"I might not be as sneaky as our burglar, but I make do. Now," he added, suddenly serious, "I'm not sure how long I have, but I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. Not just me—the whole company is."

Bilbo stared at him. "Why are you sorry?" he asked warily. When it came to Bofur, Bilbo was never sure if the dwarf was being serious.

Bofur looked away, intently studying his hands. "It wasn't right, how we treated you. You were trying to keep peace, and almost died for it. Then we stood aside and let the king exile you, and look what happened from that!" He gestured at Bilbo's stump, and the hobbit could not help but shudder at the sight.

Bilbo took a deep breath to calm himself before replying. "You were just following your king," he said in a small voice. "I didn't expect you to stand up to him, not on my behalf." That wasn't entirely true. He hadn't expected anything—but he had hoped.

Bofur seemed to understand what he was not saying. Bilbo felt a pang of guilt as his friend's face fell. "He is our king, but you are our friend," Bofur murmured. "Even if we weren't good friends to you."

Uncertain how to reply, Bilbo was almost relieved when Thranduil strode through the door and gave Bofur a long, hard look. Bofur gave him a mocking salute, and stood. "That's my cue to leave," he said with slightly forced cheer. "Feel better!" He scurried out the door without waiting for a response.

Thranduil shut the door behind the dwarf without turning his gaze from Bilbo. He stared silently long enough that Bilbo began to fidget in discomfort. Just when the hobbit could take no more, Thranduil spoke. "They do not deserve your friendship."

Bilbo couldn't help but smile, faint and bittersweet, even as he shook his head. "That's not how friendship works."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it should be."

Obstinate even to kings, Bilbo lifted his chin. "That's not how _forgiveness_ works."

Somehow, just by inclining his head Thranduil gave the impression of rolling his eyes. "As you wish."

Desperate to change the subject, Bilbo blurted, "Aren't you going to come in?" Thranduil was currently hovering near the door; Bilbo would have said the elf felt uncomfortable if he thought Thranduil was capable of that emotion.

"No." The king placed his hands behind his back and continued to study Bilbo. "Your injuries no longer require my healing. We have reached an impasse in our dealings with Erebor, and my people will be leaving tomorrow."

"Oh." The silence stretched as if Thranduil expected Bilbo to say something else. "Thank you for your assistance," Bilbo added hastily, realizing he was being terribly rude. "Truly, I am at your service."

Thranduil wrinkled his nose and flicked a hand as if to swat a bothersome fly. "The dwarf king has already agreed to recompense on your behalf. I have no need for your gratitude." Insulted, Bilbo drew breath to retort, but Thranduil pressed on, his mouth twisted down as if the words were being pulled out against his will. "I have found you to be… worthy of the gift of healing, Bilbo Baggins, and I would hate to see you squander this gift among those who do not appreciate you. You are welcome to continue your convalescence in Mirkwood, should you desire to leave with us."

Giving up any sense of propriety, Bilbo gaped at him. "You want _me_ to go with you?" he squeaked. "But why?"

"I have explained my reasons," Thranduil said tightly. Bilbo did not stop his expectant staring, and after a pause he added, sounding pained, "You have been hurt enough."

Bilbo looked away. Somehow, he knew Thranduil was not referring to the stump on his arm.

"I am not sure I will not be hurt again, staying here," he said softly, only barely finding the nerve to meet Thranduil's gaze. "And yet, I know it would hurt worse to leave. Isn't that silly?"

"'Silly' is not the term I would use," Thranduil said, sounding irritated by the entire conversation. He gave Bilbo a nod. "In that case, I wish you well, Master Baggins. My invitation stands, should you change your mind."

"Thank you," Bilbo stuttered, but Thranduil was gone before he finished speaking. He sighed, leaning back against his pillows, and wondered if he would regret his decision.

Earlier that morning, Thorin had also received a rude awakening.

In the hour before sunrise, Thorin's sleep was interrupted by a knock on his bedroom door. Not the door to his suite of rooms, but the inner door that led directly to his bedroom. Thorin raised himself on his elbows and blinked blearily in the direction of the sound, trying to make sense of it. Not even his nephews came into his rooms without knocking at the outer door—at least, not when they knew he was sleeping. (They had, once, in Ered Luin, and never again. When asked about it, Kílí invariably would whisper, "You never poke a sleeping bear," and refuse to say more on the subject.)

"Who's there?" he called. In response, his door burst open and Dís stormed in, coming to stand by his bedside with armed folded.

She gave him a sweet smile that had just a few too many teeth showing. "Hello, dear brother. I had the oddest feeling you were avoiding me after you left Bilbo's rooms yesterday." He opened his mouth to respond, only to close it meekly as her smile transformed into a glare. "Don't deny it—you know I can tell when you're lying."

Thorin straightened, dragging his feet off the bed so he could sit at its side. Mirroring Dís, he folded his arms. "I was busy," he said defensively. "The tree shaggers plan on leaving soon, and we're still trying to reach a trade agreement. I thought you were busy with the hobbit, anyway."

"I merely thought someone should treat him properly after your little display!" Dís snapped. "How you intend to rule with such a tenuous grasp on your temper eludes me. After that little scene, I wouldn't be surprised if Bilbo leaves with the elves."

As Dís spoke, Thorin had been leaning back on his hands as if physically rebuffed by the force of her anger. At her last comment, he swayed backward, almost as though she had struck him, before straightening. "Do you think he will leave?" he asked, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. He wasn't awake enough for this conversation.

Dís's expression softened, and she sat down beside him. "No. He's given his word that he'll stay for a time. But if you can't treat him well, I'll send him off myself." She laid a hand over his. "After all he has done for us, he deserves better, Thorin. So much better."

Thorin sighed. "I owe him many apologies, for I have wronged him greatly. Yet, when Thranduil said the hobbit would leave with them, there was nothing in my mind but to confront him." Almost to himself, Thorin confessed, "I wasn't angry that he was leaving Erebor. I was angry that he was leaving me before I had a chance to make things right."

Dís squeezed his hand. "He'll give you that chance, brother, but you must use it." She leaned forward, meeting his eyes. "Don't make me choose between you."

"You would choose him over me?" Thorin sputtered, shocked.

"No," Dís said instantly. "You are both my brothers. But if one brother casts aside the other, I would not leave him cast aside alone. It is not my choice—it is yours."

It didn't feel that way, but Thorin did not have the energy to argue the point. "I need to prepare for my morning meeting with Balin," he said instead, and Dís gave a resigned sigh.

"Of course," she said. "I will see you later?"

He nodded, and she left. Thorin went about his morning routine with a heavy heart.

Thorin's first formal meeting of the day was with Thranduil, and went about as expected. Their discussion rapidly disintegrated into an argument, which devolved into a shouting match that ended with Thranduil storming off in agitation.

His next meeting was a bit more unexpected.

Thorin's first hint of a commotion was the sound of shouting. He rose from his seat, a hand on his sword, and Balin did the same. Dwalin quickly moved from beside the chair to a protective position in front of his king. When Thorin tried to push him aside, Dwalin simply growled. It might have ended in fisticuffs but for the entrance of a familiar, grey figure.

"You needn't protect him from me, Dwalin son of Fundin," Gandalf declared. "I will not attack unless it is warranted." Thorin found his wording less than reassuring.

"What brings you to Erebor, Tharkun?" he asked bluntly.

Gandalf removed his hat and studied Thorin with sharp blue eyes. "Bilbo Baggins," he declared. "I heard tell of the return of the Princess Dís, accompanied by a hobbit. I assume it is he?"

Thorin nodded. "News travels quickly," he observed, a bit suspicious.

"For those willing to listen, I suppose it does," Gandalf replied, with his most innocent, harmless expression. Thorin could not help but roll his eyes. Even though the wizard's expression did not change, Thorin knew he was amused by the reaction. "I have something of Bilbo's," Gandalf continued, changing the subject. He glanced backward. "In my wagon outside. I picked up his pack from the scene of the ambush."

Thorin raised his eyebrows. "And you've been carrying it since?" Not for the first time, he wondered what Gandalf knew, and when.

Sensing the underlying question, Gandalf shook his head. "I had a hope, that is all," he murmured. "Just a hope. Now! Take me to see him."

Not feeling particularly eager to witness a reunion, Thorin nodded at Dwalin and Balin. "Take him to the hobbit," he ordered. "I'll get the pack and meet you there." Dwalin looked as if he would argue, but subsided at a subtle headshake from his king.

Ignoring the odd glances he received, Thorin strode beyond the gates to the small wagon. As he retrieved the pack he recognized as Bilbo's, he thought about the hobbit, and how he seemed doomed to treat him poorly. Still, he was a king—was Bilbo not obligated to accept any apology he offered? To receive an apology from a king was a mighty gift.

Powered by his rising anger, Thorin stalked into Bilbo's rooms. The hobbit offered him a tentative smile, which he returned with a scowl. "Your things," he said gruffly, thrusting the pack at Bilbo. The moment the bag left his hands, his anger fled, leaving Thorin to step back and wonder what had just happened.

He did not notice the wizard studying him intently, and was thus unaware he was not the only one wondering.

Gandalf was no fool, but he found himself bewildered by current events.

Gandalf had been plagued by ill luck ever since he heard of Bilbo's disappearance. As he wandered about, carrying out the business of wizards, he found himself frequently fighting off orcs packs, to the point where he began to wonder if he were somehow attracting them. The temptation to use his power for every small matter grew stronger than ever before, and he knew not why.

When he heard of Bilbo's return to Erebor, he immediately set off for the mountain. With luck, perhaps the hobbit that had been the source of hope in the past would once more bring him to his senses.

When he entered Bilbo's rooms, following Balin and Dwalin, he was gratified to see the hobbit's face light. "Gandalf!" Bilbo cried. "No one told me you were coming!"

Gandalf smiled, hurrying over to embrace Bilbo. "I'm afraid my appearance was a bit of a surprise," he said as he stepped back. He had been warned by Balin of Bilbo's disfigurement, and made no comment on it. "You are a sight for sore eyes, my friend." It was true—even haunted as he was by recent horrors, Bilbo was a breath of fresh air to the ancient wizard. Hobbits always were. "I am sorry," Gandalf added softly. "I should have protected you."

Bilbo's face softened, and he reached out to pat Gandalf's hand. "It wasn't your fault," he said firmly. "How could you have known we would be attacked the moment you left?"

He should have known, of course, but Gandalf did not argue the point. Hobbits were a stubborn sort; he would not win this argument. They fell into a comfortable silence, regarding each other fondly, that was broken when Thorin entered the room.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed as he watched the dwarf, taking in the way his anger seemed to fall away the instant his hands left Bilbo's pack. "Bilbo," he said, keeping his voice casual, "is that magic ring of yours in that bag?"

Bilbo had already been rummaging through it, making a beeline for the object in question. He held it up, beaming. "Here it is," he breathed. "My precious!"

The orc attacks. The temptation to show all of Middle Earth his power. Thorin's inexplicable anger. And Bilbo, beaming at the ring as if it were the answer to all his problems.

The ring. The Ring?

"Do not put it on!" Gandalf thundered, startling Bilbo as he made to do just that.

Bilbo blinked at him. Was it Gandalf's imagination, or was there something dark in his gaze, something that hadn't been present mere moments ago? "Why not? It's just a trinket." Suddenly, Bilbo's face went blank. "Beware the Ring," he whispered.

"What did you say?" Gandalf barked.

Bilbo shook his head, confused. "Beware the Ring," he repeated. "He told me…"

"Who?" Dwalin asked. Gandalf pursed his lips, wishing he had forced the dwarves from the room, but it was too late now.

"Frerin," Bilbo murmured. "But it was just a dream." He looked at Gandalf, wide-eyed. "Wasn't it?"

"A far more pleasant dream," Thorin muttered.

Gandalf turned away from the frightened hobbit. "What was that, Thorin?"

"Before his arm was amputated, Bilbo said that," Thorin said slowly. "Then, before he stopped breathing, he asked for the ring."

"I did?" Bilbo squeaked. "Why would I do that?"

Thorin and Gandalf stared at each other. Thorin had grown up with stories of the Rings of Power. His father had one. To him, a ring was never just another trinket. Bilbo's ring had been too useful on their quest for Thorin to bother questioning it. Now, however, the questions rose with a vengeance.

"Do not use it," Gandalf told Bilbo, ignoring his question. "Keep it safe." He glanced at Thorin. "Let no one else touch it."

Bilbo sat up straighter. "I don't understand," he said plaintively. "What is happening?"

"I must leave," Gandalf replied. He exchanged nods with Thorin, and headed for the door. "I will return as soon as I am able." By the door, he spun back around, pinning Bilbo with a severe look. "Keep it secret. Keep it safe!"

And then he was gone.


End file.
